Tim led Frank to the parking lot and clicked open the locks of his silver 2009 Cadillac CTS. Special Agent Simmons got into the car and turned it on, the sound of Johnny Cash's 'Man in Black' coming from the CD player at a low volume. This wasn't going to be an easy assignment but someone wanted to prevent the DHS Geosci Division from doing it's job and that could lead to Very Bad Things happening. Like more of those riverboats sinking, only full of innocent passengers.
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Frank looks at the automobile distrustfully, as though the high-density polymers or what have you was pretty painted plastic slapped onto a tin can. "A real car is made out of steel, Simmons," he scolds the younger agent, but gets in anyway. And groans at all the gauges and knobs and flashing lights. "At least you have good taste in music. I assume this gadget has a robot that makes coffee, somewhere?" he asks, looking around for a moment before laughing. "You're alright, Simmons. Let's go find out who has the balls to bait the Geo-Crime-Science-Crime-Division." He secured his seat belt and nodded at Simmons to do the same. "But buckle up for safety first," the old man laughs wryly.
Tim shook his head and laughed, buckling up. "Well we can't very well enforce the law if we don't follow it right?" Oh yes the man from the Federal Organization behind such operations as Ruby Ridge, the illegal wire taps on Martin Luther King JR and the cover ups of the X-Files talking about following the Law to enforce it .... funny guy that Agent Simmons. He pulls out of the parking spot and leaves the parking lot to begin the ride. "So I was thinking we'd hit the office that looks after the vehicles, see if there is some type of log, find out who signed that particular car out."
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Frank nods his assent to the plan. "I wouldn't mind havin' a thorough look at their logs if that particular entry is a bust. Even if our guy managed to cover his ass, we might find a pattern of discrepancies that could lead us to him...or whoever his contact inside DGS is." Rizzo sits quietly, drinking his coffee, the rest of the way over.
"Yeah even if he covered his tracks there has to be some sort of record of you signed that vehicle out. Pull on the loose strings." When he hears Frank speak the idea of a contact within their own office out loud he nods at the older man in agreement. "I didn't want to say anything around the others but they have to have some source within the DHS in order to get the kind of information they had."
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The roads are fairly clear, allowing for good time through the city. It isn't long before Simmons hits the Tower Bridge--and once the pair is crossing the bridge, it isn't hard to see their destination:
A ten-story step pyramid right on the banks of the Sacramento River. Few buildings could evoke a government's simultaneous needs for "classic traditionalism" and "look at me, look at me!" than the Ziggurat.
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Frank nearly spits out his coffee. "My God," he says bitterly as the DHS office comes into view, "Every time I see it, I think its gotta be the most blatant metaphor fer bureaucracy I've ever seen. Like a buncha working girls, forced to work in a brothel built to look like a great damn booby." Rizzo laughs menacingly, his thoughts on the red tape dispensers spelled out for his new partner. "Let's drive right through the front gate, flash our badges, an' threaten security til they let us in. I ain't got the patience for subtlety today."
Frank was right about the building, it was ugly, real ugly. "What the hell makes someone want to build an office complex like that, it's like something from Orwell. I half suspect that when we pull up the place's name will have been changed to the Ministry of Love or Truth." The building had to have been build under Jerry Brown. "I'm not too worried about security, it's the bureaucrats inside, some of them are better at firing bullshit than I am with my Glock." And Tim took a lot of pride in being good with his Glock.
He pulled the car into the parking lot and got his badge ready to flash at the security booth.
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Security lets the car pass with virtually no hassle--"virtually" meaning, in this case, that the booth jockey was fairly pleasant as he verified Simmons' ID before letting the men through. It's as difficult to find parking here as it would be at a mall the day before Christmas; Tim has to go all the way up to the roof of the five-story garage before he can find a place. Thankfully the elevators are fully serviceable.
Finally the two agents find themselves in the DGS lobby. Simmons and Rizzo have to go through a metal detector and a patdown, even while showing off their badges and explaining who they are. They're allowed in and even get to keep their guns; just part of the friendly service here at DGS. They're pointed towards the multitude of reception desks across the room.
The lobby is quite large--you could stuff a supermarket in this one room alone--and in the crossing the two agents have time to look at the decor. It's immediately apparent that, despite the behavior of everyone working here, the Ziggurat is not as straight-laced as one might think:
The floor is normal enough, marble tiles fitted around a large copy of the state seal in the center of the room, the sort of sight one sees in any movie that involves a government headquarters. The walls, though, that's where it's at; each wall has an odd mural, or maybe series of murals. There doesn't seem to be a coherent theme to the images, other than the fact that they are all slightly off:
- The ever-popular All Seeing Eye, from Freemasonry; but its pyramid is inverted. The pyramid is gold and set on a sky-blue background.
- A shaggy brown bear, standing on its rear legs, with its front paws cupped. Some sort of grain spills from the cupped paws. Where the bears eyes should be are pictures of the globe: the Western Hemisphere in the right eye, the Eastern in the left.
- A woman lies in a coffin. She looks to be of Mexican descent, and her dead hands clutch fruits and flowers to her bosom. Mixed in with the foliage are three flags: one is the flag for the State of California, one is the nation of Mexico, and one is the flag of the United States. On each finger she wears a ring with a different color stone.
These are just some of the images gracing the walls. There's not a foot of blank space to be found anywhere on them.
Years in the New Orleans Field Office meant that Tim had seen some odd things. Really odd things. As he walks he tries to make some sense of what he's seeing on the walls, to better understand just what the heck they were dealing with here. If the whole damn place was as odd as the opening, "Eddie" might not be hiding, the weirdo might actually be running the place.
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